


These Small Hours

by JustAnotherGhostwriter



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: A horrid attempt at POV shifts, Brief Mentions of Blood, Brief discussions/mentions of death, Gen, Mentions of death of a dog (not Den. Den is okay.), Set between Ed fixing the roof and the brothers setting off on their journey, The Resembool Trio is friendship goals, learning lessons and relying on friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherGhostwriter/pseuds/JustAnotherGhostwriter
Summary: One day, three people, three different struggles, three different perspectives.Ed and Al are about to head to their journeys West and East, but there are some niggling doubts and worries that they, and Winry, each need to come to terms with.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric & Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell, hints of Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 46
Kudos: 39





	1. Alphonse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AVMabs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVMabs/gifts).



> My (incredibly late, incredibly long) Secret Santa gift for AVMabs. Surprise: me again! I hope that this filled your desires enough, now that I'm attempting to write what you like instead of messing about in one of your lovely universes. I really, really love alternative POVs, and have been musing about unreliable narrators, recently, which is what brought this piece about, which I really hope you enjoy despite the moments of repetition. 
> 
> I hope the holidays were grand, and that 2020 has started out fantastically. Insert some metaphor about Ed, Al and Winry's journeys mirroring your own for this year. ;)

Most vivid amongst Al’s memories of his home town was the method by which he’d been woken nearly every morning, simply because said method hadn’t changed with the years that had passed. Farmer Inman’s donkey _still_ escaped nearly every evening, and _still_ got startled every morning, and _still_ ran back to his quiet paddock braying and carrying on like a wolf pack was hot on his old heels. It was more than enough racket to rouse anybody asleep in the vicinity, especially with how sound carried around the hills and dips of Resembool, and the only real exceptions to the donkey’s irritating alarm were those who could sleep through just about _anything_. 

Routine held true for that morning; a donkey’s distant, demanding bray made its way into Al’s subconscious, flickering him suddenly into awareness. And then, for a few moments that seemed like a terror of eternity to Al, he found himself aware of the darkness and the paralysis but unable to leave either behind. Fear arrived like a swift blow to the chest, and his thoughts muddled and tripped over each other in incomplete starbursts. _Armour is damaged I can’t move Pride is in me again helmet is somewhere dark air gone don’t need to breathe who did I hurt where’s Edward Gate causing blackouts need to_ move _at least a little Brother_. 

He clawed his way to full consciousness, sitting up with a loud gasp, eyes roving around the room while all his brain registered was _air, light, can move_. It took another moment or two for Al to realise he’d simply been asleep, and when the explanation settled he put his face in his hands with a little groan, suddenly irritated with how fast his heart was beating. Learning how it felt to wake up had been difficult, when he’d first gotten his body back, but those little... episodes of confusion and fear and immobility had faded into almost-nothing over time. The fact that he was not completely free of such a reaction to waking, even after two years, was a little frustrating. Especially given the probable cause of the reaction. Lowering his hands, Al took a look around the room that actually registered its contents, and grimly proved his hypothesis correct: Ed was already awake and elsewhere. And the absence of the sound of his brother asleep or moving around beside him when he started to wake had tripped Al into a panic. 

_You can’t keep relying on hearing Brother to ground you to reality_ , he reminded himself, sternly. _In less than a week, you and Brother are heading to_ opposite ends of the world _. He’s not going to be sleeping in the same place as you for a long time. Maybe even years._ The thought gauged a deep pain into Al’s chest; the miserable, howling loneliness of a child whose whole world was the brother who had been the one person to stay. Firmly, coldly, he packed up that hurt and pushed it aside. His journey in the armour had been, in part, about learning _not_ to rely so heavily on others. He was a man in his own right; he didn’t _need_ Ed to hold his hand through everything. It was unfair to _both_ of them. _You’re supposed to be disproving Brother’s doubts that you can handle this without him, Alphonse, not giving him more evidence that splitting up is a bad decision._

With another sigh at himself, Al got up and hastily made the bed. If Ed was already awake before him, it spoke of him oversleeping, and he’d wanted to run a particular errand that day before the morning was done, so he dressed in a hurry and bounded down the stairs. The kitchen clock made him start; it was still _early_ – _right. The donkey woke you. He always goes home before seven –_ and that made Ed’s wakefulness something incredibly curious. He was about to look around for his brother when he heard him – Ed and Winry both, in fact, voices rising from Winry’s workroom. After only a few moments, it became incredibly apparent that the two were not just arguing in their usual bantering fare but genuinely fighting; the tone of their words obvious enough that Al didn’t need to hear the exact things they were saying from behind the closed door. 

He winced at the noise, heart lurching and stomach clenching. Ed had grown a lot better about flying off the handle about things in the past two years or so, mostly because there was nobody in Resembool he had to put on a front for. Here was home; home was _safe_. And while Ed and Granny still sniped at each other, their words were always coded in love and acceptance. The same was mostly true for Ed and Winry’s bickers – the two argued so much because they felt safe enough to be unashamedly, rawly, messily _themselves_ around the other. There was no need to walk on eggshells or sugarcoat or withhold opinions – no matter what was said, and no matter what line was crossed, even – the other would still be there, without judgement, the next day. Learning that they understood this about the other had gone a long way to turning Ed and Winry softer, adding _that_ aspect of vulnerability into the mix, as well. But since they’d each bought their individual train tickets, Ed had been visibly more anxious and uptight, and old habits of hiding those emotions still prevailed strongly in his older brother, causing the atmosphere to shift to moody and thick over the past few days. It was somewhat inevitable that Winry and Ed would get into a real fight after days of increasing clashes, but Al still hated the muffled sound of it as he stood in the kitchen and tried to focus on making himself a simple sandwich for breakfast. 

The muted sound of breaking glass and Winry’s sharp, audible rebuke made Al flinch. The arguing seemed to fade, and then the door to the workroom bounced open. A few moments later, Ed stormed into the kitchen, looking thunderous, a broken water glass held in his hand. 

“Oh, Brother, what did you _do_?” Al asked with a sigh that was half exasperated and half sympathetic. 

Ed whirled on him with his teeth bared and his eyes flashing. “Nothing!” he snapped venomously. 

When Al didn’t cower from the anger, Ed turned away and dumped the glass fragments next to the kitchen sink. Al opened his mouth, then thought better about scolding Ed as he heard the water start running, realising with a jolt that Ed had probably gotten some glass stuck in his hand. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” Ed replied, tightly, switching off the water. “Have to take a pie down to the station to get sent to Granny.” He gestured to the pie resting on the windowsill. Its presence made Al wonder how long Winry had been awake; there had been no pie when they’d gone to bed the night before. “Never mind,” he muttered, more to himself than to Al, “that Granny is coming back soon enough that the pie could just have waited _here_ for her.” 

“You’re not seriously complaining that Winry’s sending Granny a pie while she’s away,” Al rebuked, crossing his arms at his brother’s mood. He was relieved to see that Ed was extremely careful as he put the pie into a basket, despite the thick scowl still on his face. “What about the glass?” he called as Ed stomped out, leaving the shards on the sink. 

But Ed didn’t so much as glance back. For a moment, Al deliberated his choices, and then he called a quick goodbye to Winry, grabbed the book he’d set on the stand by the front door, and jogged a little until he caught up to his brother’s side. 

“I need to return this to the Henrys,” he explained at Ed’s raised eyebrow. “It’s in the same direction.” 

“I can just take it, then,” Ed said with a sigh, holding out his free hand for the book. 

Al clutched it tighter. “I can walk perfectly fine the few miles to the Henrys’, Brother,” he said, firmly, only just managing to stop himself from adding _so please stop hovering and worrying about me so much_ to the end of his sentence. 

Ed turned his face away without a word and continued walking, and Al fell into silent step beside him. For all the silences and invisible chasms between the brothers in the years, this was the first of its kind to spring up and rip them apart: they’d never had to fight the separation of looming separation, before. Ed’s face was pulled into a frown as he walked, watching the ground and shifting the basket with the pie from arm to arm every few moments and Al longed to snap his attention back – longed to say something that would make the frown turn into a smile or, at the very least, a frown that was more put-on and teasing than real – but his words were either inadequate or too heavy for him to speak. _This is one of the last times we’ll be walking somewhere together, Brother. Please let us not be fighting when we have to say goodbye so soon._ But wasn’t that, too, the childish plea of somebody who really _wasn’t_ ready to go out into the world by himself? Wouldn’t Ed hear the longing and sadness behind the words – as Ed so often heard what Al _didn’t_ say and tried not to show – and become even _more_ worried? Maybe even worried enough to change plans – to try and insist on coming across the blistering desert with Al even with his automail. Or, if Winry could talk him off of that idea, worried enough that half of his mind would be on Al always, stealing his concentration from his own path. And his own dangers. 

And Ed... Ed needed to pay _full_ attention to the unknown he was going into. Because his idiot brother always seemed to _attract_ trouble, and Al had no doubt he would keep this _lovely_ trait even though he no longer could perform alchemy. Al was so busy burying into the miserable mental image of his brother, having an awful time in some western town, turning down opportunities to put his amazing mind to good use because his thoughts were only for Al, only for protecting his little brother who couldn’t do it alone, who was studying a second form of alchemy after stripping him of his first and only, that he missed when Ed stopped walking beside him. 

“Brother?” 

The look on Ed’s face as he stared into the distance was one Al recognised at once, and he spun around, muscles already tensing as he looked for the danger. It wasn’t hard to spot: the only other thing on the flat, grassy horizon was the precariously wobbling wagon. There was a boy up on front, apparently trying to control the nervous horse pulling the wagon, and, to Al’s mind, far too many sheep jammed in the back. The wagon jolted hard enough it nearly unbalanced, the horse half-reared, the sheepdog started barking frantically, the boy cried out, and Al and Ed started running. 

Al outstripped his brother, reaching the wagon just as it finally collapsed over for good with the deep sound of splintering wood. Al transmuted the ground up into a stone ledge that stabilised the cart, but the sudden stop and rise lurched all the occupants on the cart around a little. The horse, truly frightened now, fought to break free, rocking the cart and snorting almost loud enough to be fully heard over the barking dog, bleating sheep and the howling boy. Al transmuted the horse free and let it run off; it would either come back, later, or be caught by a well-meaning neighbour and returned. The boy – the dark-skinned, maroon-eyed youngest of the Henry children, he saw – seemed to be crying more out of fright than actual hurt, but Al hurried to his side just in case. 

“Hey,” he soothed. “Hey. You’re Jairin Henry, right? Why don’t you come down from there? That’s it; grab my hands and I’ll – That’s it, good.” With the shaking, sobbing boy safely on the ground, Al glanced around for his brother, feeling his heart leap into his mouth when he spotted Ed shimmying his way under the cart. “Wait here, Jairin, okay?” Al told the boy hurriedly before heading to Ed’s side. “Brother! What are you _doing_?” 

“Sheep and dog are trapped,” Ed called back in a grunt, only his legs visible now. “Gotta get them.” 

“Wait, hold on,” Al said, hurriedly, falling to his knees to attempt to see under the cart. His rock ledge that was stabilising the other side of the cart blocked most of the light, and Al felt a swoop of guilt that the trapped animals could have been his alchemy’s doing. “Let me transmute it – ” 

“Al – ” 

There was the sound of something hitting wood, and then a crack, and instinct had Al flinging himself backwards as the side of the cart not held up by rock sagged. _It’s going to crush Ed_ , Al thought in horror, trying to scramble to his haunches much too late. _It’s going to crush him._ But, by the time he’d gotten himself situated, the wagon had come to a noisy, precarious stop some way off the ground. Bending down to look again, Al saw Ed’s automail leg thrust vertical like a tent pole, trembling violently as it tried to take the weight of the wagon. Sheep bleated and crashed around in panic. 

“Crap! Hold on, Brother.” Al sat back up on his haunches. 

“Wait, Al, stay back, I – ” 

Al ignored him and clapped, beginning the transmutation that would stabilise the cart on the other side as well, concentrating on making the shelf of rock narrow enough that it would not emerge from underneath Ed’s legs. He was very familiar with his brother’s desire to be the only one in real danger and the only one with the real possibility of getting hurt. And he knew, far too well, how much that desire doubled when it came to him. Especially since he’d gotten his body back, weak and defenceless and brittle. But that had been two years ago; Ed _needed_ to start seeing that he was no longer the wraith that had been rescued from the Gate. He could help – he _would_ help, his brother’s over-concern about him be hanged. 

The wagon settled, but Ed remained quiet and hidden beneath it while the sheep continued to near-panic. Al tried to soothe them as best as he could, but he wasn’t a farmhand and seemed to not be making much progress at his goal. His efforts, however, seemed to dispel some of Jairin’s shock, and the younger boy came over to the cart and started to calm the livestock with much more confidence than Al had for the task. Ed nearly ruined his efforts by appearing suddenly from underneath the wagon, spooking the sheep nearest him. As he backed away from the bleating animals, Al noticed both the heavy way he was limping and the bloodstain on his shirt. 

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Al told him, hurrying to his side and catching Ed’s arm in an effort to keep his brother from putting more weight on the obviously painful automail. He let go, however, when his grip caused Ed to wince. “Sorry. What else did you hurt?” 

“Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“Brother. That’s blood on your shirt,” Al pressed firmly, catching his brother’s elbow again, this time more gently. 

“It’s... not mine,” Ed muttered, not meeting Al’s eye. 

“Where’s Kobi?” Jairin suddenly demanded. “He was... you said he was...” Jairin’s voice rose in fear and horror. “Kobi! Kobi, here boy!” 

“Wait, don’t – !” Ed started toward the boy as he flung himself to look under the wagon, and his left leg buckled so completely that Al was the only thing that kept Ed upright. 

His brother’s first curse was for the pain. The second was for the wail of grief and disbelief that went up a second later from Jairin’s mouth. Al’s heart sank to his feet as Jairin began to sob for his dog, and Ed pulled his elbow out of Al’s grip. His jaw was clenched tight, and he was ducking his head so his bangs would hide his eyes, the regret and guilt as obvious as if they were painted on him. Al took a step toward Jairin, then was struck by a thought and glanced back at his stony-faced older brother. 

“Did I...? With my transmutations...?” 

“No,” Ed said, at once, firmly. “No, the cart trapped him. I couldn’t... save him.” 

Al reached back and put a hand on Ed’s shoulder for a moment before he left to console the young boy. It took some time to calm him down, understandably, but once he was reduced to sniffs and the occasional shaky inhale, the three boys made plans. Al left Jairin to engrave the rough grave marker he’d transmuted after they’d buried Kobi the dog, leaving Ed to watch him and the sheep, as it was increasingly obvious that the older Elric was hurting pretty badly. 

“You know the address where Granny’s staying, right?” Al nodded in agreement, a little distracted by trying to see whether Ed was _really_ that bleak or if it was just the sun making him look pale. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. With help for Jairin and the sheep,” Al promised. He’d jogged a good way away before he realised he hadn’t had to post food from Resembool since they’d adopted the bigger city’s method of coding their delivery items. “Brother!” Al bellowed back, and Ed raised his head to glance his way. “What number is it to send food?” 

“A forty!” Ed called back. 

Al waved in thanks and then set off at a run again, pie basket bouncing slightly against his side. 

*** 

He left Mr Henry and the three or so other people who they’d managed to rustle up on the short notice a little behind him as he hurried back to the scene of the accident, more than a little convinced he’d find his brother passed out or otherwise worse for wear than when he’d left him. To his relief, however, he found Ed still upright and alert, sitting in the meagre shade the wagon provided with Jairin at his side. Approaching the two, Al took a moment to wonder fondly at Ed’s inherent skill with younger children. He attracted them to him as easily as he could repel most teenagers and adults, most often offering them exactly the kind of response they needed. Perhaps it was because Ed _still_ didn’t have a truly deceitful bone in his body, and children were good with sensing things like that. Or maybe Ed just radiated, in everything that he did, that at his core he was a naturally excellent big brother. 

Nostalgia welled up fierce enough that Al found a lump forming in his throat. As always, he beat the sadness of their imminent parting down with logic and the firm reminder that he and Ed no longer had to tie themselves to each other so dependently. But there was still a warm-yet-aching weight in his chest when he arrived at Ed and Jairin’s side, and his smile when he told the boy that his father was coming was a little forced. 

“Is he mad?” Jairin asked at once, voice hushed. 

“No. I told him it was an accident. And that you were very brave and helpful to the sheep.” Al paused. “I told him about Kobi.” Jairin’s face puckered, and he began wiping furiously at his face. It was _such_ an Ed gesture that Al’s heart hurt again. “Hey.” He crouched in front of the boy. “It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to _show_ you’re sad. Especially when you lose somebody you love.” 

Jairin eyed him warily through red-rimmed eyes that were nearly overflowing yet again, the tears making the unique colour of his eyes even stranger for a moment. “Did you ever lose a dog?” 

Al’s first thought was Nina and Alexander, and he let himself feel the sting of remorse until it turned into determination and hope. That was, after all, _why_ he and Ed were going out on their separate journeys. He could not change the past, but he could change the future; and planned to do so. “I never had a pet dog,” he told Jairin, knowing that Nina and Alexander did not belong in that space. “I never even had a chance to get a cat, like I wanted. But... I know it’s sad, when you want somebody with you who is gone. And I know what it’s like to miss them and to wish you could have saved them. And it’s okay, to feel those things.” 

“Jairin!” Mr Henry called from just behind them. 

The boy’s eyes slid from Al to his father, and the conversation was lost as he scrambled to his feet. Mr Henry grabbed his son in a fierce hug while one of the other boys went to tend the sheep, and Al glanced to his unusually silent and still brother. The sight had him wincing in sympathy; Ed’s facial expression was one of distance and discomfort all in one. Ed snapped out of it when Mr Henry came to say thanks for their help, managing to get to his feet wobbly and shake the farmer’s hand. Al quickly made their excuses for leaving, returned the book like he’d wanted, and then shepherded Ed back towards the house. Ed’s limp was incredibly noticable, and Al hovered close in case his leg simply decided to buckle under him again, but his brother was nothing if not stubborn. He did, however, admit defeat halfway there, sagging to a seat on the small stone wall. And Al remembered, all in a rush, how _he’d_ sat on that very wall, a little ways down, when he and Ed had first come home to Resembool. 

“Do you want a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the house?” he found himself asking, lips twisting into a soft, nostalgic smile at the memory. 

Ed glanced up at him, and something complex flittered across his face. He shook his head, lips twitching slightly, and then hauled himself to his feet and continued back to the house at his slow wobble. Al had expected him to decline, and was happy Ed had also seemed to be visited by the same ironic memory, but the more they walked the more those facts both started to bug him. If he remembered what Al had been like, then why didn’t that let him see what Al was like _now_? He wasn’t _quite_ sure why it was so important that Ed, usually not very generous with stirring emotional speeches, _acknowledge_ that Al was capable of handling himself without Ed’s help, but it _was_ important to him. Maybe it would finally stop the childish hurt that was trying to well up inside Al every time the reality of the separation took hold. 

“I can do it, you know,” he told Ed, trying to make his voice firm. “I could carry you back home.” 

Ed grunted. “You don’t have to,” he replied, shortly, a little out of breath. 

“It’s give and take, though,” Al pressed, unable to stop himself digging for that one phrase or something like it now that he’d realised how important it was to him that he hear it. “It’s how it works – one’s strong for when the other isn’t. _Equivalency._ ” 

“Yeah,” Ed said, his voice quiet and slightly distant, “but equivalency is never equivalent, is it?” 

The feeling that rushed over him at that statement, Al thought, must be akin to what Ed felt when his stump or arm ached again, even after so long: an old wound hurting again in a way that was scabbed over but no less deep and no less real. That’s what the guilt felt like, as it resurfaced; as he looked at his brother limping beside him and faced, yet again, the knowledge that Ed had no alchemy, an automail leg and nerve damage in his right arm all for the sake of Al’s body. Ed would still make an impact on the world, undoubtedly, but those three factors would just make it that much more _difficult_ for him; obstacles in his path put there, willingly or not, by his little brother’s hands. And Ed continued to try and add another Al-shaped obstacle: continued to hinder himself with worry, believing Al not good enough. Al squared his shoulders. 

“That’s what we’re hoping for, though, isn’t it?” he said, firmly. “We’re going out there to make sure equivelency doesn’t happen – to _make sure_ we give back _more_ than is taken. And... I _can_ do my part for that, Brother. I really believe that I’ll be able to find things – learn things. Add something good to what we’re planning to do together. Even... even without you there. I _can do this._ ” 

Ed glanced at him, blinking slightly. “Well, yeah,” he said, sounding a bit surprised. “I know that.” 

It was the _delivery_ that threw Al enough to make him stumble a little; Ed was genuinely acting like Al had just given a rather impassioned speech about the probability of the sun rising the next morning. As though he’d never doubted for a moment what Al could achieve. Al’s heart leapt. 

“You... do? Know that? That I’m ready? And... and strong enough? Physically and mentally, I mean.” 

“Like any of us would let you go frolicking across a dessert alone if we didn’t think you were ready for it,” Ed snorted. But then he did a double take when he looked at Al, and came to a slightly lurching stop. “Al,” he said, seriously, and a little bewildered all over again. “Of _course_ I know you can do this. Hell, you’ve _never_ needed me. Not really. And especially not now.” 

There were reiterations of the reassurance after that, but, despite being desperate for the words a few moments ago, Al stopped listening as soon as he caught sight of that little twisted smile that came across Ed’s face. He _knew_ that smile. And it suddenly made things slot into place in ways that should have made sense ages ago and that Al didn’t like at all. 

“Brother, you’re an _idiot_ ,” he exclaimed, midway through Ed’s sentence, bringing his brother up short. 

“What the – ” Ed retorted, face pulled into a scowl. Al just folded him into a hug, being careful not to pull him off of balance. “Al?” Ed asked, sounding mystified and a little worried. 

“You,” Al said as he let go, “are going to make _such_ a mark on this world, Brother. You already have. And not because of alchemy or the military or even the way you helped save the world. Brother.” He looked at Ed fondly, feeling his chest swell with love and pride. “You’re a genius. And you’re going to use it for _good_. We’re _going_ to change some things. Can’t be difficult after saving the souls of the whole country, right?” 

Ed blinked at him for a few moments, eyes searching his, face vulnerable and confirming that Al’s suspicion had been correct. And then Ed made himself scowl again. Because it was easier, that way. 

“Genius? I thought you just called me stupid.” 

“You are about some things, Brother,” Al said, cheerfully, once again beginning on the road home. “And it takes you realising it yourself before you can change anything; we can talk to you until we’re blue in the face.” 

He’d meant it as a parting barb that kept Ed thinking about his words so that his brother hopefully arrived at the correct conclusion that alchemy did not his worth and merit make. But, as life would have it with those sorts of things, his attempt at a life lesson turned around and sunk its teeth into him, too. It took a while, because when they got home Winry made a fuss about Ed’s leg and Al was instructed to make tea and hot compresses while she attempted to undo the damage Ed had done to more than just the automail. But, as he sat beside where his brother was cocooned on the floor, his thoughts started wandering over his own advice. And then, somewhere in the tangle of thoughts, what he’d said to Jairin came back to him, as well. _It’s okay to be sad_. _It’s okay to_ show _that you’re sad._

Al shifted from his reclined position against the side of the couch until he was lying beside his brother, side pressed to his side. Drowsily, Ed opened his eyes and looked at him in askance. Al gave him a smile, and let it have its touch of sadness. 

“I’m going to miss you, Brother,” he said, unable to keep his tone completely even. 

It was the right thing to do, them splitting up. Both of them could handle whatever lay ahead of them. And their path ahead would impact others, as well as help them grow individually and intellectually. And, while that was all true, meaning Al didn’t regret what was coming in the slightest, his heart still hurt with the knowledge of the coming goodbye. 

“Me too, Al,” Ed murmured. 

They were going to be brilliant. They were going to make a difference. They were going to miss one another fiercely. And that, Al was learning, was okay.


	2. Edward

It all went wrong, Ed was sure, because his first reaction to running into Winry in her workshop that early in the morning had been unintentional guilty surprise. 

“Winry! You’re up early.” 

Her eyes, ringed with dark circles, he noticed then, narrowed at him in suspicion. “ What are you doing in here, Ed?” she demanded, narrowed gaze flying to his left leg, even though the automail was covered up by his pants. 

“The leg’s _fine_ , gearhead, relax,” he groused at her, rolling his eyes. 

“Then why are you in here this early?” she demanded, folding her arms and still looking suspicious. 

“I just left something in here yesterday I’ve come to fetch,” he shot back. 

It was the wrong thing to say. While truthful, it was a very delicately constructed version of the full truth – one that left out the fact that he was in there hunting for the hot water bottle he was sure he’d used in her workshop a few days earlier. There was a corner in the room that Ed had more-or-less claimed as his own; it was sunny, it was quiet, it was remote enough that he could leave books and notes lying around without any worry that they’d be disturbed and messed up in any way. And there was something about the atmosphere in the place that made it feel good in his chest to work besides Winry. Ed didn’t _quite_ understand it, but he thought it was something to do with how focused she was on her automail orders; that the air of hardworking determination that she gave off as she focused made him do the same on his own work. 

Whatever the case was, he’d moved an armchair in there and spent as much time as she did in the room without any complaint from her, and that meant that it was almost definite that the hot water bottle had been left somewhere in the vicinity of his little corner. Ed just didn’t want to tell Winry this, because she knew the only reason he’d need that hot water bottle, and would quickly arrive at the conclusion that her warnings from the previous day that Ed was overdoing it had been proven correct. That would lead to her nagging him about taking better care of himself – he could just about hear her saying something like _if you can’t even take care of your flesh arm you worked so hard to get back, then I can only imagine what you’re going to do to my automail –_ and he would be able to pick up the genuine concern she felt for him under said nagging and he just really couldn’t face her worry when he was supposed to leave in about a week. Al was already obviously nervous about Ed going out alone, apparently unsure whether Ed would be able to take care of himself, let alone achieve anything, now that he didn’t have military backing _or_ alchemy. The last thing Ed wanted was for Winry to turn genuinely concerned; to yet again have to deal with waiting for the brothers Elric to come home, half convinced they’d be in pieces when they did. 

So he didn’t mention that he’d overestimated how much he could carry, basing his ability on his time in the military when he’d been doing more strenuous physical activity daily. And he didn’t mention how he’d woken up just after dawn, muscles so stiff and aching that he’d been unable to sleep. He didn’t simply tell her that the nerve damage in his right arm from the automail surgery that Truth hadn’t repaired flared up because of the day before’s overuse on his muscles, leading him to get dressed slowly and come downstairs to seek whatever relief he could get. 

But Winry _knew_ him; knew when he was hiding things from her, even with simple omission. And, while he’d never promised anything out loud, the understanding between them had always been that he’d not keep something from her again, now that he was out from the military’s clutches. They had _always_ been honest and open to the point of oblique vulnerability with each other in almost every area – which was why, in hindsight, him keeping military things from her had upset her so very much – and over the past two years they’d simply moved into a slow but steadily inevitable growth in this aspect of their relationship. 

So when he looked at her and hid most of the truth from her that early morning in her workshop, Ed _saw_ on her face how it hurt her. The guilt was a swooping punch to his stomach. 

“Winry,” he said, even though he had no idea how to complete the sentence, torn between mending what he’d just hurt and keeping her from seeing evidence of his incapability. 

“I have work to do,” she snapped, turning her back on him at once to hide her face. 

Ed stared at the rigid set of her shoulders, willing words to come that would make it all better. But he had never been good with talking to people in situations like this; it had always been Al handling people’s feelings delicately and well. _Can’t rely on your little brother any more_ , he reminded himself for the umpteenth time as he went to make tea, leaving Winry to her upset working. _There isn’t going to be anybody to compensate for the things you lack. All you’ve got, Edward, are your brains and nothing else. Not even alchemy, any more_ . He didn’t for a single moment regret giving up alchemy – it had given his brother his body back, and really _had_ been a crutch that Ed had leaned far too heavily on. Had been manipulated by. But some of the bravado he’d managed to show in front of Truth had deflated as time had gone by and Ed had been forced to face the fact that he didn’t have much to offer without the ability to perform alchemy. He’d told Truth he’d be fine because he had friends surrounding him, but it had become increasingly apparent that while he needed his friends, they didn’t need him. Al was strong and capable and on his way to learn Alkahestry. Winry had always been utterly brilliant, and Rush Valley was desperately offering her another apprenticeship that grew grander and more profitable every time she hesitated and made them call her back again. Coming up with the travel plan with Al and developing their own take on giving back eleven where ten had been taken pushed Ed right up to the sheer cliff-face of the fact that he might not be able to fulfil the task he and Al had set for him. The fear of being useless, left behind, alone and a burden to those he loved, was like a constant drill in his heart and his chest that grew louder as the day for their departure loomed closer and closer. The determination and excitement was there too, of course, hot and powerful and soaring, but it was so easily dampened by the fear, this time around. 

Ed drank his tea in contemplation in the kitchen, but it didn’t help as much as he’d have liked. Resolved to getting the hot water bottle, even if Winry saw, Ed returned to the workshop with a glass of water in hand, some vague idea of giving it to Winry as a peace offering playing in his mind. She was still stiff and iced-off when he returned, refusing to look at him as she tinkered with the leg he’d thought she’d finished the day before. Awkwardly he hovered, unsure whether to just put the water down or to say something, and from his vantage point he managed to catch sight of what she was doing. He knew enough about automail legs by then to keep up in a conversation with her, and an idea dawned in that moment. 

“You know,” he said, feeling rather pleased that he had something better to offer for her forgiveness than just a glass of water, “if you only have one nerve connection hardwired into the knee, then it minimises pain when th-” 

Winry threw down the wrench in rage and rounded on him, storming until she was close enough her chest was touching his. The fury on her face was so unexpected that Ed simply gaped down at her, completely thrown. 

“No, go on! Tell me _exactly_ what I’m doing wrong with this automail!” 

“Win... I was just...” 

“Just _what_? Spit it out! Tell me exactly how to make this better, from all your _years_ of learning to do this.” There was an odd sort of tone to her anger; a hysteria that he didn’t know how to decipher. 

“I’m just trying to help!” he snapped back, confused and alarmed that he’d somehow truly pissed her off, this time. His right arm also chose that moment to spasm, his fingers starting to shake around the glass he was holding. He hoped he hid his grimace well enough. “Because I’ve noticed some things after _wearing_ automail for _six years_.” 

The confusing hysteria morphed into something he could almost understand – something that looked so very close to tears. Ed’s heart sank low. “You told me,” she snarled, sounding very dangerous, “that everything was _fine_ . Every _single_ time, Ed. You said – ” 

“I _told_ you when there were problems, Winry!” he snapped back, trying to figure out how to swap the glass to his left hand without it seeming suspicious. 

“Apparently not, because you’re making corrections over my shoulder _right now_.” 

“Stop blowing this out of proportion! They’re just little things that I noticed that will – ”

“That you didn’t tell me about! That I could have fixed _then_. That could have made me a better engineer _years_ ago. But you wouldn’t tell me, would you? Oh, no, because that would mean Edward Elric admitting to being in pain and weak and as human as the rest of us.” 

“I have _never_ wanted to be anything other than human,” he said through clenched teeth, struck guilty by how close to home her words hit at that very moment. The fingers in his right hand were trembling harder, and he was starting to lose feeling in them. “Don’t you _dare –_ ”

“I’m daring! One of us has to! You... you... if you’d just _told_ me, then I wouldn’t be here fixing a mistake I didn’t even know I had made!” 

“Wait, you’re _blaming me_ that you made a mistake?” He was incredulous and angry and guilty. “Ha! And a moment ago _you_ were accusing _me_ of trying to be better than human. News alert, Rockbell, you’re always going to make mistakes.” 

Winry rocked back a little, her nostrils flaring, but the breath she took was never allowed to turn into a reply – Ed’s arm spasmed again, and when he instinctively tried to reach out and put the glass down on the workbench, his grip on the glass slipped. The sound of shattering and the small wave of water that passed over his shoes was probably a metaphor, or something. Ed grit his teeth and tried to curl his hand into a fist to no avail; the trembling was too intense at that moment for a sustained clench. The fight seemed to break out of Winry, as well – she startled, stared down at the mess on the carpet, and just slumped. She didn’t say a word or move a muscle as Ed bent down and started gathering the shards of glass into his palm, the apology on the tip of his tongue that was burning with shame and residual anger. 

“I baked a pie for Granny, but I won’t be able to get it to the station because of this work,” Winry said in a monotonous voice. “Take it down. It’s on the kitchen windowsill.” 

Ed’s fingers trembled again and a shard of glass pierced deep into his palm, and he allowed himself to wince because Winry couldn’t see his face. “Yeah. Fine. Whatever.” 

When he left, she had already turned back to her work, and the set of her shoulders made him feel wrung out and strangely small. Al was in the kitchen when he walked in with the broken shards of glass in his hand, the remnants of a sandwich on a plate before him. 

“Oh, Brother, what did you _do_?” Al sighed, his expression disapproving. 

Indignation and irritation flared, and Ed spun to give his brother a glare. “Nothing!” 

Al simply gave him a look Ed was sure he’d patented and, suitably sheepish for letting his thoughts and guilt make him snap at his brother, Ed turned to the sink. Carefully, he dumped the shards down in one of the dirty bowls Winry had presumably used for her early morning baking, making sure they’d be easy to throw out when he was done washing the blood away from his hand. It trembled as the water hit it, a symphony forming from the small stinging ache in his palm and the bone-muscle-deep screwdriver of pain in his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” Al asked from behind him, getting up from the table and coming closer. 

“Fine,” Ed replied, tightly, switching off the water. “Have to take a pie down to the station to get sent to Granny.” To get away from Al’s scrutiny, Ed began hunting for a basket big enough to put the pie in. It was actually, he realised suddenly, a ridiculous notion – what was Winry thinking, waking up early to bake a pie for Granny like she had to _bribe_ the old woman to come home from her out-of-town consultation? Was Winry really that worried about something that she was thinking _Pinako_ wanted to leave her or something? “Never mind,” he said out loud as the ridiculousness of the thought overcame him, “that Granny _is_ coming back, and would enjoy the pie waiting here for her like she always has.” 

“You’re not seriously complaining that Winry’s sending Granny a pie while she’s away,” Al rebuked, and the criticism on top of everything else that morning made Ed’s mood sour even more. 

Al said something else as he left the kitchen, but Ed didn’t bother to listen or slow down. Walking would clear his head – by the time he returned, he might even have something to offer Winry by way of apology. And she might even be in a mood that let her explain what the hell had happened in the workroom. But Ed was only starting down the driveway when Al jogged up beside him, apparently intent on going along for the walk. 

“I need to return this to the Henrys,” he explained, waving the book he held in his hand. “It’s in the same direction.” 

“I can just take it, then,” Ed offered, shifting the basket to his right hand, willing his grip to stay solid and reaching for the book. 

Al clutched it tighter. “I can walk perfectly fine the few miles to the Henrys’, Brother,” he said, refusing to let Ed anywhere near it. 

A _book_ delivery down the road. He couldn’t even do that for Al, any more. He did _not_ miss the times in Al’s recovery when his little brother had been too tired to do things like return books, leaving those tasks to Ed. But he _did_ miss being able to help, even in small ways. To just... shit. To just show he was capable. More than that – to just _show_ his love for his little brother. But Al didn’t need that any more, did he? Had never really needed it, and now he’d come to that realisation, too. Ed swallowed the lump of complicated emotions that rose up in him, turned his face away from Al and started walking, hoping it would all stay bottled up where it belonged. 

*** 

“Brother?”

He hadn’t even been able to save the kid’s _dog_. Al had beat him to the scene of the accident waiting to happen. Had managed to use alchemy to stabilise the cart _twice_ and had calmed down the distraught boy. And Ed’s only job – saving the trapped sheep and the damn noble, loyal mutt – had been ruined by his attempts to do it correctly.

“Brother?”

The worst part was he couldn’t see how it could have been any different. Even if he’d still had alchemy, he wasn’t _sure_ he’d have been able to save the dog. Maybe if he hadn’t been there at all, Al could have done more with the time he’d spent worrying about Ed under the cart. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“ _Brother_.”

“Yeah?” Ed said, belatedly, looking across at Al.

“Will... you be okay, staying here?”

It hurt to straighten up – Winry was going to kill him for what he’d done to the automail limb. He hadn’t looked at it, properly, but there was no way it was in good standing when it hurt that damn much – but Ed forced his posture straighter. He was _not_ helpless. And if he was relegated to sitting around with the heartbroken kid he hadn’t been able to help then, screw him to hell, he’d do it _properly_.

“You know the address where Granny’s staying, right?” Al nodded in agreement, eyes still slightly narrowed as if in doubt. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. With help for Jairin and the sheep,” Al promised. Ed gave a grunt of agreement, and watched Al start to jog away. Even in the midst of the misery and guilt and pain, he had enough left in him to be satisfied with how far Al had come. And not just physically. Ed turned away to look at Jairin, who was sitting on the ground a little ways off, covered in the ground from his dog’s grave. “Brother!” Al bellowed suddenly, and Ed raised his head to glance his way. “What number is it to send food?” 

“A fourteen!” Ed called back.

Al gave him a little wave, and then turned to walk away, a figure in the distance growing smaller by the moment. The image struck Ed so forcefully that he had to swallow hard. When Al was lost to the horizon he allowed himself to slump again, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the constant waves of pain from his thigh and his shoulder. He’d pulled the latter even more, trying to reach for the trapped animals under the wagon, and it was furious in its rebuke of his folly.

It took longer than he’d like to admit for him to realise there was an awkward silence stretching between him and the Henry boy, and that he should probably try and say something comforting to the still-occasionally-sniffing child. What that comforting thing was, however, was lost on Ed; he was awkward and virtually clueless in situations like that one. And he doubted tough-loving the kid into moving on was the best way forward.

“Hey. Jairin, right?” The boy turned to him, still covered in grave-dirt, eyes sorrowful. And _what_ eyes; the Henry children had always been talked about because they’d all turned out dark-haired, despite their mother being blonde and their father being clearly Ishvalan, and their maroon-mixed eyes that came from the match between brown and red. Never in a way that was attempting to be rude or even suspicious; people were just curious about their colouring in a small community used to the mundane. Even Trisha had gotten a few comments, as had Al and Ed about _their_ unusual eyes. _That_ thought made Ed nostalgic again. “You okay?”

The kid shrugged apathetically, going back to staring at the ground. Ed sighed, tried to rotate his shoulder a bit, and stopped almost immediately at the flare of pain. Almost absently, he tried to massage his own shoulder, despite knowing from experience that he couldn’t get to the most important parts with his reach.

“Are... you okay?” Jairin asked suddenly, and Ed looked up to find the kid’s eyes on him.

“Yeah,” he said. The kid continued to stare at him. “I... I’m sorry. That we couldn’t save Kobi.” Jairin’s lip wobbled a little, his gaze still unwavering. “He... was a really good dog, right?”

“He used to sleep with me in the bed every night. Dad didn’t know.” The boy’s voice grew thick with tears. “I was teaching him to fetch books and stuff from places in the house.”

Ed nodded a few times, letting the information sink in. “He was a smart dog to learn that. You, uh... other dogs can be smart, too. You don’t have to... be alone, just because Kobi died.”

“I don’t want a new dog,” Jairin said, looking scandalised. “I want _Kobi_ back.”

“I know, kid, I know,” Ed said, heavily, and something in his tone made Jairin not only still, but tentatively get up and move toward Ed.

“Did you lose your dog?”

“No. But... I lost my mom. And... some other good friends.” Ed looked away for a moment, and when he looked back, Jairin was sitting at his side. He shifted a little closer, and the kid eagerly responded by leaning a little into Ed’s side. “It... sucks. It hurts. Even worse because you just... _can’t_ ever get back what you lost.”

Jairin’s frown increased again. “Not even... what about magic?”

“Not with magic. Not with science. There’s _no way_ ,” Ed responded, firmly, and Jairin curled a little bit more into himself. “But, you know, losing things isn’t _only_ bad.” The kid’s look was very sceptical, his eyes filling with tears. “It... leaves room for new things. You’re not _replacing_ what you lost. You can’t get a new dog to make up for the fact that Kobi isn’t with you any more. A new dog won’t make you stop missing him. _Never_ replacing. But... it, uh... gives you room to learn new things you wouldn’t have learned if... if the bad thing hadn’t happened. You can discover new things. And... grow, I suppose is the word.”

“I don’t want to grow. I want Kobi,” Jairin said tremulously, and Ed managed to give him a smile.

“I know, kid. I really do understand. But life isn’t fair; isn’t all good. Even when we try really, really hard to make things better. Sometimes our attempts actually make it worse.” 

The kid frowned even deeper at this, seemingly caught in the maze of things Ed was still grappling with, much less a ten-year-old. He remembered being younger than that and learning Teacher’s truth about the universe, and he was struck with nostalgia and bemusement and also sorrow that he couldn’t keep this one kid a little bit more in childhood innocence for longer. Like with Al, all his attempts had come to naught; the reality of the world crept in regardless. 

As though summoned, Al appeared then, and thankfully took over the conversation, healing what Ed had probably messed up. Ed let his thoughts wander, humming just above the endless waves of pain, surfacing again just to say goodbye to David Henry before he and Al started their walk home. Walking took all of Ed’s concentration – the automail had buckled completely once before, and was seemingly determined to do so again, fighting against Ed’s stubborn determination to stay on his feet – and hurt something ugly. _One more step. Just one more. You’ve done this before – you can do this now. One more step._

Eventually, he half-fell onto the stone wall beside the road, panting and shaking and feeling a little light-headed. He grit his teeth around the huffs of pain that wanted to turn into moans, and tried not to assume what Al was thinking as he looked down on his older brother on the wall because of his own stupid stunts. It was actually a little odd to hear Al so quiet; he’d used to go on about Ed’s stupidity for _hours_ after the incident had occurred. Ed never thought he’d miss that. 

“Do you want a piggyback ride the rest of the way to the house?” Al asked, suddenly. 

Ed glanced up at him, the memory of when their roles had been reversed surfacing sharply. Two years ago, Al had walked home with a crutch. Two years ago, they’d been returning home from war. And now... now Al was safe. And whole. And able to learn, discover, grow. He shook his head, lips twitching slightly at the memory , and then hauled himself to his feet. He wobbled even more than he had been, but his determination to reach the house on his own power had doubled since the memory of Al – he wanted, he thought with an internal smile, to be much more like his little brother. Maybe not in skills and ability, but in heart. Or, if he was too much Ed to be Al, then at least somebody Al was proud of. He could try be that, right? Al had faith in him to become that, right? 

“I can do it, you know,” Al said, interrupting Ed’s tentative hope. His voice was oddly hard. “I could carry you back home.” 

Ed grunted. “You don’t have to,” he replied, dismissing his brother’s concern. He could do this. He was still able. 

“It’s give and take, though,” Al continued, still firm. “It’s how it works – one’s strong for when the other isn’t. _Equivalency._ ” 

“Yeah, but equivalency is never equivalent, is it?” Ed mused. 

He couldn’t help but think about what he told Jairin; how one could _never_ get exactly what you gave away back, because the nature of _exchange_ always denoted _difference_. If one gave away and got back the exact same thing, nothing would have been _exchanged;_ it would have been as if no transaction had taken place. And, while equivalency often hurt, it was never _only_ a bad thing. Learn. Discover. Grow. Give back eleven where ten was taken. Ten taken meant he no longer had alchemy; had to work a little harder to protect himself and others. So what was his eleven? Something hard that had been encasing his heart for days started to loosen and break away as Ed’s thoughts started towards some end point that had previously been inaccessible to him. 

“That’s what we’re hoping for, though, isn’t it?” Al demanded, temporarily breaking Ed’s dawning epiphany. “We’re going out there to make sure equivelency doesn’t happen – to _make sure_ more is given. And... I _can_ do my part for that, Brother. I really believe that I’ll be able to add something good to what we’re planning to do together. Even... even without you there. I _can do this._ ” 

_What_ ? Ed almost lost his footing because he took his eyes off the road to look at his brother. He felt his brows furrow in confusion at where Al’s speech had gone. “Well, yeah,” he said, slowly, trying to search for what his distraction and pain might have made him miss . “I _know_ that.” 

And Al... To Ed’s growing surprise, Al looked a little surprised by his words. Ed tried to backtrack over the conversation, now _convinced_ he’d missed something. 

“You... do? Know that? That I’m ready? And... and strong enough? Physically and mentally, I mean.” Al’s face was almost _anxious._

_What the hell?_ “Like any of us would let you go screwing across a dessert alone if we didn’t think you were ready for it,” Ed snorted back at his brother, incredulous . Al’s face morphed into something else, and Ed came to an unsteady standstill as a suspicion began to grow that Al... really _didn’t_ know what Ed was telling him. Which was near impossible, right? Al had to know how amazing he was. “Al,” he said, seriously and incredulously. “Of _course_ I know you can do this. Hell, you’ve _never_ needed me. Not really. And especially not _now._ ” He smiled a little at the bittersweet thought; at another emergence of the realisation that he was no longer a big brother in the way he’d always needed to be. “Alphonse, you have nothing stopping you, any more. And even before you got your body back, there was very little stopping you. The research you want to do, the alkahestry you’re going to learn... you’re just... you can totally... there are so many peo-” 

“Brother, you’re an _idiot_ ,” Al interrupted. 

“What the – ” Ed’s mouth fell open, and then he scowled. Before he could demand an explanation, Al crushed him close into a hug, fierce but gentle and somehow supporting some of his weight off the automail as well. “Al?” _What the hell_? 

“You,” Al said as he let go, “are going to make _such_ a mark on this world, Brother. You already have. And not because of alchemy or the military or even the way you helped save the world. Brother.” Al’s grin was wide and warm and Ed felt suddenly able to take a deeper breath. There was _pride_ in that look, too. Unmistakably. “You’re a genius. And you’re going to use it for _good_. We’re _going_ to change some things. Can’t be difficult after saving the souls of the whole country, right?” 

There were too many things happening in Ed’s head; too much relief, too much love, too much unravelling. He stared at Al, unable to form a response, as the emotions unrolled inside of him. Once again he thought of what he’d told Truth; how he’d be just fine because of the love and support of his friends. How that love and support didn’t depend on alchemy, or even usefulness, really. Winry and Al had still treated him the same, even though he’d taken so long and had so many blunders fixing that roof. How _easily_ he’d forgotten the truth. Ed pulled his face into a scowl when he realised how much time had passed; teasingly put-out was the easiest way to respond to Al’s sudden, slightly overwhelming gift. 

“Genius? I thought you just called me stupid.” 

“You are about some things, Brother,” Al said, cheerfully, turning again for home, this time with his arm linked through Ed’s for support. “And it takes you realising it yourself before you can change anything; we can talk to you until we’re blue in the face.” 

That was... fair. And it also made him remember Winry, and his lie of omission from that morning, and his resolve to apologise for both the damage to the leg and his behaviour doubled as Al helped him along the path home. Ed still could have walked there on his own strength, but, despite Al and him separating, he didn’t _have_ to. And that... that also tied in to Winry. To him wanting her around; to him being okay with her seeing him limping up the driveway. Both metaphorically and not. It was _okay_ ; and he resolved to find a way to tell her that when he got home. To tell himself that, whenever he needed to be reminded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Useless trivia: Jair is a Hebrew name that means "shining one". Kobi is a name taken from the Hebrew name that means "supplanter".


	3. Winry

“Winry! I’m going to return a book; be back soon!” Al called, sounding hurried.

The door closed, the house settled into silence once more, but Winry could not get into her usual working groove. She tried to remind herself that she was on a tight deadline for the leg in front of her, but her thoughts kept drifting, often to the fight she’d had with Ed or her strong desire to curl up in her bed and go to sleep. After far too little time, she tossed her wrench down in frustrated disgust, and went to the kitchen for some tea.

The tea didn’t help, either, and as she went to toss the rest of the tasteless cup out she caught sight of the shards of Ed’s glass in a dirty bowl beside the sink. Frustration rose at the sight of them, sharp and cutting as the glass shards, spitting her ire on the entire rotten day. She was angry she’d woken up inexplicably early, plagued by a half-remembered dream about being in Rush Valley and unable to get back to Resembool quick enough to help Pinako in an emergency. She was angry that she’d _just_ gotten her nervous energy and residual dream guilt to settle by baking Granny a pie when there had been a knock on the door that revealed a client’s wife. She was incredibly angry about the remembered exchange – the guilt that Mrs Havvish tried to lay at her feet even though the leg had been damaged because Mr Havvish had done things Winry had expressly told him _not_ to do. She was most furious by the insinuations and the one or two outright comments that said Winry wasn’t good enough; that if Granny herself didn’t see to things they’d take business elsewhere and make sure others knew that the legendary Rockbell quality was tarnished in the hands of a teenager who _couldn’t even cover her navel_. She was angry at how the criticism had stung and mixed with the anxiety she’d carried for weeks about going back to Rush Valley for an internship. And she was angry at Ed for trying so hard to protect her that he’d kept the truth from her and then brought it up when she was already miserable and sleep-deprived and anxious and full of doubt.

Winry picked up the bowl of glass shards and tilted it so the light caught the little pinpricks of Ed’s blood that clung to some of them. She was mostly angry, she admitted to herself as she went to throw the glass shards out, that Ed had kept himself in pain and discomfort in some attempt to protect her; that she’d never seen through him in this one area that was her domain. That he’d lied to her _again_ that morning, shutting her out decisively and unthinkingly, as though promising her with actions that she was really going to lose him when he left for his journey to the west. She begrudged neither of the boys from going, even though she knew she’d miss the happy, messy thing life had become with them around all the time. She loved Ed and Al, not the people they _could be_ if they were less inclined to pursuing knowledge for ways to protect the world. But she _could_ admit to being a little bit envious – they both knew that leaving was the way forward, when she herself was torn between home and adventure. And she could also admit to being a little worried that Ed would... shut her out completely. Not call. Not write. Maybe not even come to her for maintenance – especially if she was in Rush Valley and not Resembool. The biggest part of her would never dream of spending her years pining for Ed’s friendly affection to turn into what she felt for him, but a smaller part of her... That part yearned for him to do the opposite of forgetting her and shutting her out.

The glass clinked as it fell into the bin, and Winry watched it fall and watched Ed’s blood smear and drip away and, suddenly, thought of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. _“_ _In general, men prefer to let their actions speak instead of words_ _. When they're in pain, they don't want to burden anyone with it, not if they can help it. They don't want anyone to worry about them. That's how they are.”_ How _had_ Ed acted that morning? He’d snapped, but he’d snapped _back_ . He’d lied, but... but what? She didn’t know, because she hadn’t asked him. Had snapped at him, because she hadn’t told him about her doubts and fears about Rush Valley or about the demanding, unfair customer that morning. She hadn’t even confessed to him the reason for making her pie; her irrational but real fear that Granny wasn’t going to come back to her, either. Shame at her hypocrisy crept up steadily as Winry returned to her workstation, slowly eating away at most of her anger and frustration toward Ed. 

“I’ll say sorry first,” she promised the automail parts around her. “When he comes back... I’ll try again.” 

*** 

“Sorry, Win,” Ed mumbled at her, making her remember the promise she’d forgotten she’d made to herself. 

“I’m done with that other leg and don’t have any backlog waiting; it’s not _really_ an extra slog,” she reassured him, knowing by the way his eyes seemed to burn that the time for yelling at him for breaking her automail and being reckless and stupid was _not_ right then. Right then was time for gentleness and reassurance. 

Ed glanced away a little, but quickly returned those earnest eyes to hers. “Not... just about the leg. About... this morning. What I said. And... not telling you things about automail, before.” 

Winry’s heart clenched in a complicated mix of fondness and pain and regret. “You’re forgiven,” she said, quietly, because it didn’t need to be said and needed desperately to be said. “And, um... Ed, I’m sorry for snapping.” 

“’s okay. I should have –”

“No, it wasn’t you, really. I, um, had a rough morning. And you saying that... I know _now_ that you were really trying to help, but at that moment it was just... one criticism too much. Coming from somebody I trust to be open with me.” 

“Right. About that.” Ed looked away again and fidgeted. “I... uh... I was looking for the hot water bottle. Earlier. That’s why I came into the workshop. I, um... I...” He visibly gritted his teeth. “I overdid it, yesterday.” 

“Oh, Ed.” She moved away from where she’d been supporting a very little bit of wrapped ice to a strategic place on his leg, far enough from the port that the metal would not badly conduct the cold. Instead, she leaned over his shoulder and gently probed his right arm, feeling the faint tremors and the very obvious tightness and swelling. “Ouch,” she winced in sympathy, before getting to her feet and gathering every single pillow she could find into a pile on the floor with the most handy blankets. “See if you can get on there without hurting yourself too badly,” she said, gesturing to the nest on the floor. “I’m going to go and find that hot water bottle.” 

She ran into Al making dinner in the kitchen, and told him the situation when he queried the hot water bottle. Al’s entire countenance snapped to worried immediately, and he hastily chopped the remainder of the vegetables while the water boiled so that he could return to the sitting room with Winry to check on his brother. Ed had curled up on his side on the floor, but Winry gently nudged him over to his stomach so that she could get a proper angle at his shoulder. 

“Can I get anything else?” Al asked, hovering and concerned. 

“Thanks, Al, but we’re fine here.” She smiled at him, hoping to calm down the urge to protect that she saw radiating off of him that she understood so well. “If dinner is okay by itself for a while, feel free to sit with us, though.” 

Al did sit down, as close to Ed as possible, his back resting against the couch and his concerned gaze on Ed’s exposed back. Winry let the hot water bottle sit on Ed’s skin for a while, warming and loosening the muscles, talking about inane things that seemed to untwist some of the mother hen buzz out of Al’s system. When she was satisfied the hot water had done its job, she removed it, settled onto her knees, and began to gently massage Ed’s shoulder. 

“Win, you don’t... have to...” 

“I know. Tell me if I hurt you,” Winry told him, thumbs finding their way across the map Ed’s muscles were trying to show her. Ed grunted in agreement, already relaxing beneath her hands. “And tell me where.” 

Ed was silent for a few beats. “Uh... a little... up and to the right. A little bit back down... more right... _there,_ ungh. Shit.” 

“Too hard?” 

“No,” Ed grit out. “No it’s – ngh – good. Just... ufgh.” 

“Okay, sure,” Winry agreed. “Tell me if there’s another place, okay?” 

“Umhmm. _Augh_.” 

It wasn’t a perfect fix, but most of the visible tension was out of Ed’s shoulder by the time she was done, and Ed was far more relaxed and sleepily grateful. With a smile, Winry put the hot water bottle back against his shoulder and told him to stay put while she worked on his leg. This time, despite her tiredness and the soreness in her hands, it was easy to slip into her work headspace. Ed had done more damage to himself than the steel, and the fix was a quick one. She hefted his leg out with her, contemplating leaving him with the spare so he was forced to rest his abused stump more or giving him his automail immediately so that he had the mobility and ease he needed. Al was stirring whatever he was cooking, and he shot her a smile that was almost as dazzling as the slowly setting sun. 

“Thanks, Winry. For all you always do for Brother. And me. And all your clients. Rush Valley sure is going to be lucky again when you return.” 

At once, the calm and ease shatters, and her answering smile turns fake; a thin veil to hide the fear and doubt and guilt and insecurity. “Thanks, Al.” She put Ed’s leg down on the kitchen counter, listening to him enthusiastically praise her merits. “I’m... going to go for a walk,” she interrupted. “Be back in time for dinner!” 

*** 

The sunset played pretty, warm colours across her parents’ engraved names, and Winry could see nothing except an imagined third grave beside Dad’s with Granny’s name on it. _Pinako Rockbell. Could have lived longer if her granddaughter hadn’t abandoned her for fame._ Winry bit her lip, knowing that she was being ridiculous but unable to make logic overcome emotion. She wanted Granny back home _now_ , not in a few days’ time. She waned a living, breathing, snarking reminder that she was not alone. She wanted advice, even though she knew Granny would be gently, lovingly scornful about it even _being_ a choice – of _course_ Winry should go to Rush Valley and learn more, spread her wings, discover the world. 

But what if that was the last thing she ever heard Granny say, face-to-face? What if Resembool ceased to be home; if she found fewer and fewer reasons to return to the graves that held her parents and some of her identity? 

The weight of it all mixed with her lack of sleep, and she found herself beginning to cry. And that was, of course, how Ed found her when he limped to her side suddenly. He turned to say something to her, and visibly did a double-take at the sight of her tears. The horrified, panicked widening of his eyes was almost funny. 

“Winry... what’s...?” 

Give the man a battle, and he’d fight it fiercely. A logic puzzle, and he’d tackle it with near-arrogant gusto. A crying girl? He completely froze. 

“I’m fine,” Winry said, and then remembered that she and Ed weren’t keeping anything from each other. “I’m _not_ fine,” she blurted, and it all came rushing out in a gasping, sobbing mess. “I want to go to Rush Valley so badly, Ed, but it feels _wrong_ leaving Granny here to manage the business alone. She’s not _young_ any more, and what if something _happens_ to her while I’m away? You know she probably won’t ask for help. And I can’t _lose_ her. Not like that. But if I keep saying no, sooner or later people from Rush Valley will stop calling, and Resembool’s my home – I swear it is – but I sometimes don’t know if it should be or if it’s just home because I was born here. And I don’t want to not be the best I can be; I want to always learn more and I can’t do that here and what if... what _if_ I move somewhere else and can’t come visit Mom and Dad? Who will put flowers here? And if Granny is b...buried here... I _don’t know what to do_.” 

She took a deep, shuddering breath and held it, aware of Ed staring at the graves of her parents from the corner of her eye. 

“You know they’re decomposed by now, right?” Ed said, and it was so unexpectedly blunt that she exhaled in a noise of surprise. “You can come visit every day, or once a year, or even less than that and it... won’t change much. They’re gone already. What’s left of them is in you, not in the ground. And... holding on to things that have already gone is the reason for so many bad mistakes.” 

Winry was quiet for a long moment, the buzz of her thoughts finally calming to a whisper. “ What should I do?” she said, wiping at her eyes. 

Ed shrugged his left shoulder. “ I can’t tell you that. But... Will there ever be a time when you _can’t l_ earn more from places like Rush Valley?” 

“No.” 

“Are there things in Resembool that have... time limits to them?” 

Winry felt her mouth twitch, ever so slightly. “By that logic, you should stay here, too.” 

“I could,” he agreed, easily. “But... I’m not ready to give myself to time, yet. There’s still this last task to do.” 

She turned to him fully, fond and sad and a little amused. “There’s always one last task, Ed.” Which was not necessarily a bad thing. Not if he didn’t want it to be. 

“True.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Like gambling. I guess... I need somebody to tell me when to stop.” He gave Winry a look then that was so strange that her heart lurched and froze and seemed to stretch in anticipation. There was something _more_ in his eyes; some addition to the words that was right there, charging the atmosphere and...

And she chickened out. “Well, this time you’ll be missing Al, so that will be a deterrent, right?” she said, a little too fast. 

“Yeah.” Ed looked away and cleared his throat a little. “But... not... _just_ Al.” 

Accidentally – it had to be accidentally – his hand brushed against hers. Winry’s heart swelled, warm and feather-light and steel-strong. The evening smelled, she suddenly realised, unbelievably sweet with promise. “Well. People who stay around too long and stagnate are boring, anyway.” She smiled at him, loved how his hand was still brushing accidentally against hers. “Should we go home before Al comes and drags us back for supper?” 

“Yeah.” Ed glanced to the distant right. “Let’s stop and say hi to Mom and the bastard on the way back?” 

They did not touch as she walked and Ed limped, but there was a warm bubble of peace that she was sure surrounded only them, all the same. 

*** 

“Bye, Granny. Love you.” 

She didn’t usually say it, but after the events of two days ago, she felt compelled. Pinako returned it easily and with warmth despite the reason and tone she’d called Winry in, and Winry put down the phone. She allowed herself one moment to bask in the warmth of it, and the knowledge that Granny would be home very soon, and then took a deep breath. 

“ _Edward and Alphose Elric_!” 

There was an almost audible silence that came from the kitchen where the boys had been amusing themselves by throwing kitchen supplies to one another instead of _passing_ them like logic would suggest. Boys; they never really grew up. When she entered the kitchen with her hands on her hips, she found them both eyeing her with trepidation, the reckless game of catch suspended. 

“Do you mind explaining why we sent Granny a box instead of a pie?” she demanded, telling herself sternly not to laugh. 

The brothers exchanged a mystified look. “But we sent the pie,” Al said. “ _I_ sent the pie. I know I did. I got the address right...” 

“And the product number?” Winry insisted. 

“Yes – A forty,” Al said. 

Ed jerked. “I said _fourteen_ .” 

Al stared at him. “No you didn’t...” 

“I did! I said A _fourteen_.” 

Al’s face turned into a comical _o_ of realisation and trepidation. “What... what was in the box?” he asked Winry tentatively. 

“A whole box of chickens,” Winry returned, still trying to remain stern. “They escaped and have wreaked havoc across the house she’s staying in. The matron is deathly afraid of all birds, and has refused to come down from the attic room for hours. The problem is, birds roost in there at night. So if she stays any longer...” 

Ed and Al stared at her. She stared back. Al was the one to snort first, and he broke the dam on all three of their laughter. 

“ _Chickens_ ,” Ed gasped. “What is she going to do with them?”

“Make eggs for breakfast, she says." 

“What poor soul was waiting for a clutch and got a pie instead?” Al half-moaned, half-laughed. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” 

“Granny says you owe her a new pie when she gets home just for that,” Winry laughed, grin so wide it was almost hurting. “And, Alphonse, clean out your ears.” She gave Ed a meaningful look, which he grinned wickedly at. 

“My ears are clean! Brother was being unclear!” 

“You sure about that, Al? Let me help you...” Ed flung himself at his unsuspecting brother, wet finger at the ready to stick into Al’s ear. 

Chaos erupted, which grew only worse when Den, barking at the excitement, joined the fray and tripped both Ed and Al up. Winry flung herself on top of their pile, causing them both to groan, but she just laughed, and snuggled closer, and reminded herself that home felt like _this_ and not like four walls and a town name. 

_We’ll be alright. More than._


End file.
